


One Night

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drinking, F/M, Hook-Up, Post-War, The Leaky Cauldron (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-19 07:33:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29622783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Hermione takes a job abroad, but old sparks fly with Ron when she returns to London. Written for Ron's Chessboard Fest.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 5
Kudos: 47
Collections: Ron's Chessboard Fest 2021





	One Night

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Ron's Chessboard Fest, the prompt: One-night stand turns out to be new co-worker.

“You know, some of us actually have to _work_ in the morning,” Ron griped, though he took the pint that Seamus pressed into his hand without resistance. It was his fifth of the evening, despite the fact that he’d sworn to himself he wouldn’t drink so much, at least not tonight. It felt like he’d been drinking for three straight days, which actually wasn’t much of an exaggeration; what would have normally been a fairly low-key celebration of Harry’s birthday had snowballed into an entire weekend that also encompassed festivities for Neville’s birthday, Luna’s recent engagement to Rolf, Ginny’s appointment to the English World Cup team, and Hannah’s purchase of the Leaky Cauldron, where they had all been lurking and drinking nearly nonstop since Friday night.

“Ay, and that’s why we brew hangover potion,” Seamus replied with a grin, clinking his glass to Ron’s.

“Well, you’re the master at that,” Ron replied with a roll of his eyes.

“Only potion I ever cared to learn,” Seamus agreed jovially. He clapped Ron on the back, then took his pint and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Ron alone near the bar.

Ron glanced at his watch, deciding that this drink would be his last, even though his friends seemed to be showing no signs of slowing down. Including Harry, who was due to sit through the same dreadful Monday morning debriefs as Ron in approximately eight hours. He was just thinking about how to convince Harry—and, by extension, Ginny—to leave with him, when the pub’s front door opened and his heart caught in his throat.

Hermione.

He took a reflexive gulp of his ale as he watched her get swept up by an intoxicated Luna and dragged into the throng of their classmates. She had been working abroad ever since graduating Hogwarts, and despite their best intentions, they had let their friendship devolve over the years into perfunctory correspondence and infrequent visits. In fact, it had been well over a year this time since he had last seen her. She usually came to London at Christmas, and his mum always made a point to have her over to the Burrow for at least one ridiculously indulgent meal. This past December, though, she’d sent him a basket full of delicacies from her latest travels with an apologetic note letting him know that her parents were visiting her for the holiday, rather than the other way around.

Ron downed the rest of his ale as he watched Harry greet her, his eyes lighting up in surprise. Well, at least Ron wasn’t the only one that she hadn’t told she was coming.

Ginny spun urgently at Harry’s side, scanning the crowd for him, and Ron lifted a hand to draw her attention. She grasped Hermione’s arm and turned her in Ron’s direction, and her entire face seemed to soften as their eyes met. She nodded and said something quickly to Ginny before extracting herself and making her way toward Ron. Merlin, she was beautiful, he thought, not for the first time; she seemed to be only getting prettier every time he saw her. It didn’t make their limited time together, or the inevitable goodbyes that followed, any easier.

He had hardly even managed to formulate a coherent thought before she was standing in front of him, and he had bent down to give her a hug, wondering vaguely if this would finally be the one from which he didn’t let go. “Didn’t know you were in town,” he said, the words sounding far too formal for someone who had once been his best friend. Time hadn’t exactly stripped her of the title, but the day-to-day execution of her role in his life was unrecognizable to what it had once been.

“Just got in today,” she returned as she pulled away. “I ran into Susan in Diagon Alley this afternoon, and she told me you all were having a bit of a ‘do.”

Ron smiled wryly. “So she _didn’t_ tell you Seamus has done his best to have us all plastered all weekend?”

“She hinted at it,” Hermione laughed as she glanced over at Seamus, who was inexplicably engaged in an arm-wrestling match with Dean. “Care to catch me up to the party?” she asked, settling onto a stool at the bar and taking Ron’s hand to pull him down beside her. “Buy me a drink?”

Ron motioned Tom over from behind the bar. Before Hermione could order, Hannah called to the barman from the opposite side, “Whatever she wants is on the house.”

Tom shrugged at Hannah. “You’re the boss now. What’re you lot having?”

“Another pint,” Ron answered. Sod going home now. What was hangover potion and coffee for, anyway?

“One for me as well,” Hermione agreed. Tom slid the two oversized glasses of ale over to them, and Hermione clinked her glass to Ron’s with a grin he couldn’t quite decipher. “Cheers.”

Their conversation was constantly interrupted as people kept coming over to talk to Hermione, but she never moved from her place next to Ron. They were several drinks deep, Ron’s impending early morning long forgotten, when Hermione leaned over, a bit unsteady on her stool, and placed a hand on his leg, much higher than he knew she would have done if she were sober, and whispered, “I’ve really missed you, you know.”

Ron raised an eyebrow at her and retorted, much more bitterly than if _he’d_ been sober, “Hard to tell, anymore.”

He saw the hurt flash across her eyes for an instant before it was replaced by a familiar spark of determination, and before he knew it, she had leaned further into him and pressed her lips to his. “How about now?” she muttered, still so close that her lips brushed his as she spoke. Ron moved to return her kiss, but a catcall from somewhere in the pub made him hesitate.

“Do you want to get out of here?” he asked instead. Hermione nodded and slid off her stool, taking Ron’s hand and leading him to the Floo in the back. Ron took a handful of powder as they stepped into the fireplace, the green flames swirling up around them and transporting them back to his flat.

They had barely even stopped spinning in his living room before Hermione launched towards him, kissing him with an unexpected urgency. Her hands found their way to his belt buckle almost immediately, but he was still clear-headed enough to pull away. “I didn’t mean…” he started, cutting himself off as he registered the embarrassment in Hermione’s expression.

“Oh,” she said tightly, stepping away from him and crossing her arms over her chest. “Oh, of course you didn’t.”

“I mean, it’s not that I don’t _want_ to,” he rambled. She had been mere moments from finding out _exactly_ how true that was. “It’s just...not what I meant. We can…” His eyes darted across the room, the bed he hadn’t bothered to make that morning visible through the doorway, with the rumpled sheets looking like they were two steps ahead of them. Hermione followed his gaze, and when she looked back at him, her eyes were dark with desire. “If _you_ want to?” What was he saying? Was this really what their relationship had become? It had taken seven years of constant interaction for them to finally throw aside the worry over ruining their friendship to even _kiss_ that one time, and now, they were the type of friends who didn’t see each other for over a year and then had no qualms about just hopping into bed together?

Hermione closed the gap between them, her hands running up his chest to meet behind his neck. “I want to,” she replied huskily before kissing him again. Well, that answered that.

He kissed her back hungrily, wasting no time in steering her towards his bedroom, both of their clothes littering the floor in their wake. They were both down to just their underwear, Hermione moaning beneath him on the bed as she ground her hips up against his before he was cursed again with the presence of mind to ask, “Are you sure about this? We’ve both had a lot to drink.”

“Ron,” she said, her voice distractingly breathy, “don’t you think I would hex your bollocks off if I thought you were taking advantage of me?”

He smirked in spite of himself; at least not everything had changed between them. “I know you would.”

“Feel like I ought to be asking you the same thing,” she countered, suddenly serious. “You had more to drink than I did. So...” She propped herself up on her elbows, bringing her face closer to his as she looked at him earnestly. “Are _you_ sure?”

It was a loaded question, one he wasn’t entirely certain he could answer. Was he sure that he wanted her? Absolutely. Was he sure that it wouldn’t break his heart to let her go again after they crossed this line? No, he wasn’t sure of that at all. But she was _here_ , and she wanted him, and that would just have to be enough for now. Tomorrow would come, as it always did, and he would tell her to travel safe, as he always had, and then she would be gone again. As she always was.

Ron crashed his lips back to hers in answer, and Hermione wrapped her arms around his back, pulling his weight down on top of her once more as she laid back against his pillows. She let out an indignant squeak as he pulled away, but it turned to a contented sigh as he kissed his way down her body, hesitating when he reached the lacy edge of her knickers. “Ron,” she breathed, “ _please_.” He pulled the frilly garment slowly down her legs, and chuckled when he felt her toes at his hip, pushing at the waistband of his boxers, making her impatience clear. Ron indulged her, dropping the last articles of both their clothing to the floor before moving to dip his head between her legs.

He could have fueled a thousand patronuses with the sounds Hermione was making in response to his ministrations, but after only a few moments, she threaded a hand into his hair and gave it an insistent tug. “Want— _you_ —“ she panted when he lifted his head to meet her gaze. He moved up the bed to kiss her again, and she immediately bent her legs on either side of him, affording him the perfect access to slip inside her, both of them groaning softly as he did.

Hermione’s fingertips dug into his sides as they quickly found a rhythm, her frequent sighs of pleasure filling the room. Ron marveled briefly at the effortless way they connected, as if that first kiss hadn’t also been their last, as if their relationship had never missed a step, and in that moment he couldn’t even remember a world in which he didn’t know what Hermione felt like wrapped around him...what she tasted like...the way her soft curls seemed to be swallowing his entire pillow as she writhed beneath him, moaning out his name…

“ ‘er—mione—“ he managed, breathing heavily as he felt his orgasm approaching. “ ‘ermione, I’m gonna—“

“Me too,” she gasped, one hand slipping down to his bum to urge him on. “Don’t stop.”

He forced himself to hold on until Hermione cried out, her hips giving an erratic twitch as her hands clenched, nails digging into his skin. With a final thrust, he spilled into her and let his head drop to her shoulder. He felt her brush gently at his hair before he rolled over to settle next to her.

As their breathing slowed, reality began to sneak back into his consciousness. They had gotten willingly swept up in the passion of the evening, but now that it was over, he wasn’t sure how to handle the situation. He’d just slept with his best friend; what was the protocol here?

It shouldn’t have been surprising that Hermione had a solution for that. She gave him a soft kiss that stung with finality as she slid out of bed and reached for her knickers. “You’re not staying?” he asked, though he had known the answer all along. It was a shag. They were friends who shagged now. What else could they be, without her living here?

“I’m staying with my parents,” she replied softly. “They’ll be worried if I don’t come home.”

Ron nodded, though it seemed a feeble excuse considering it was past one in the morning, and her parents had probably been asleep before she’d even left for the pub. But he supposed, all things considered, he’d rather she have said that than what was probably the truth: that she couldn’t bear to face what they’d done when morning came and the alcohol had worn off. 

Hermione lingered in the doorway a moment, surveying him. “Goodnight, then.” He got the sense that she was waiting for him to say something, but what was he supposed to do? Tell her that he’d never _really_ gotten over her? Ask her to stay in London? There was no use in any of it, and he knew it. So he simply echoed her goodnight and watched her go.

He was awakened the next morning, far too early it seemed, by Pig’s incessant squawking. “Bloody bird,” Ron muttered irritably. He pulled his pillow over his head, only to have the tiny owl land on the bed beside him and peck at his hand. “Ow, Pig! What the—“ He stopped as he heard the knocking on the front door that must have roused Pig and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, only then realizing that he’d passed out the night before without putting any clothes back on. He groaned and reached for his discarded boxers as the knocking intensified. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he grumbled. He wouldn’t have normally answered the door in such a state of undress, but on approximately four hours of sleep, he really couldn’t be bothered to care.

He swung open the front door to reveal Hermione in the hallway, shifting nervously from foot to foot and holding a takeaway coffee in each hand. “Hi,” she said tentatively. The way her eyes drifted down his nearly-naked frame didn’t escape Ron’s notice, but she seemed to force herself to meet his gaze as she held out one of the steaming cups. “Can I come in?”

Ron took the cup from her and turned back into the apartment, leaving her to follow. “What are you doing here, Hermione?”

“I want to clear the air about last night,” she began determinedly. Ron winced as he sipped the coffee.

“That’s really not necessary,” he replied, propping himself on the back of his couch to face her.

“It is, actually.” Hermione set her purse down on the table by the front door and walked towards him, still not completely successful at hiding her roaming gaze. “I got so caught up in seeing you and in...well, everything else...that I didn’t even get a chance to tell you why I’m here.”

She had piqued his curiosity, at least. Ron raised an eyebrow at her. “Okay. Why’re you here?”

“I’ve—“ She took a deep breath and then barreled ahead, clutching the coffee cup in her hand so tightly that her knuckles were white. “I’ve taken a job at the Ministry. I’m moving back home.” Ron opened his mouth to respond, but she continued before he could get a word in. “I want you to know that last night wasn’t just sex to me. I would’ve never—if I were leaving again. If I thought that there was no chance of us actually being something.” She looked nervous again as she spun the cup absently in her hands. “But of course, if last night didn’t mean anything to you—“

“Didn’t _mean_ —“ Ron interjected, but she raised her voice over his and finished quickly.

“If it didn’t mean anything to you, we can just go on and pretend it never happened, but I would really, really like us to still be friends.”

“ _Friends_?” Ron echoed, then shook his head, trying to process it all. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight. You’re moving back to London?” 

Hermione nodded. “Yes.”

“You want us to be friends?”

“Yes.”

“But, you actually want us to be _more_ than friends?”

She took a shaky breath, but nodded again. “Yes.”

Ron paused and took a sip of his coffee. “We’ve sort of gone about this all arse-backwards, you know.”

Hermione chuckled. “I suppose we’ve always sort of been that way, haven’t we?”

Ron slid from the couch and set the coffee aside, wrapping his arms loosely around Hermione’s waist. “Let’s fix that, then. Can I take you on a proper date after you get settled?”

“So you…” Her free hand fluttered uncertainly, finally landing lightly on his chest. “You don’t want last night to just be a one night stand, then?”

Ron laughed and shook his head. “You’re absolutely mental, you know that?”

“Maybe,” she replied with a shrug. “But I think that’s why you like me.” She hesitated as she looked up at him. “You do _like_ me, right?”

He almost rolled his eyes at the ridiculousness of her question; after all, it wasn’t like him to bring a woman home for a drunken shag, and Hermione wasn’t, and never had been, just any woman. But they’d drifted apart over the years, and for all she knew, last night was just another notch in his bedpost. He understood her insecurity, of course; if there was one thing they’d always had in common, it was doubt about the other’s feelings. “Bloody hell, Hermione, _yes_ ,” he answered emphatically. She let out a small sigh of relief at his words and rolled up on her toes to give him a gentle kiss.

“You know,” she said slowly, grinning as she levitated her drink over next to Ron’s so that she now had both hands free to graze along the elastic of his pants, “since we’ve already gone about the sequence of this all wrong, do you suppose there’s any harm in a repeat of—“

Ron didn’t even let her finish, tugging her flush against him as he kissed her again, this one full of the promise of many more to come.


End file.
